


Bittersweet Symphony

by pansimonlewis



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Other, aro/ace raphael, brief mention of saphael, thats all u need to know tbh, tough baby boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-06-07 04:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6784906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansimonlewis/pseuds/pansimonlewis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was aromantic, and there were people just like him too. It ached him that there was barely any representation of his sexuality, but he still felt eternally grateful for this piece of knowledge that was kept hidden from him all these years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bittersweet Symphony

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic on here, and i think there's no better way to honor this than writing about raphael santiago.  
> also, raphael is not romantically involved with anyone here.  
> because,, y'know,, characters don't have to be romantically involved with anyone in order to have a successful story.

The universe is a big, complex entity waiting to be uncovered. Its thorny secrets lie in its vast oceans and starry skies, secrets whispered into the night that are way beyond any human’s understanding. It would be an understatement if one were to say that Raphael wanted to revel in all of its riddles and surprises. He wanted to indulge himself in all of its pleasantries and appreciate the intricate creations of God from afar. He no longer feels like he’s a participant in this lifetime, he feels rather numb and automated, a spectator behind a stained window. He used to take pride in the many things he once was talented in. For instance, he was once intrigued by his own cosmic knowledge. He once could recall every event that took place in history for the past seven decades. 

He could remember hearing about The Holocaust when he was only three, the inhumane genocide of millions of innocent lives.

He could remember Pearl Harbor, the event that marked the start of World War Two. 

He could remember the fall of Stalingrad, the liberation of Paris, the Korean war, and the first nuclear submarine.

He could remember hearing about a nest of vampires, just a bizarre rumor travelling the streets of New York in 1953. He still does not know why he took it upon himself to explore their lair. Nonetheless, he rounded up a couple of his older friends so that they could rid the streets of New York of all danger, so that none of their children will wind up dead once again. He was always born a leader.

He, bitterly and acrimoniously, could remember getting Turned. Surprisingly, even seventy years later, the metallic taste of blood always seems to linger in his mouth at the brutal memory. The crucifix his mother gave him, an emblem of protection, did not ward off the angry downworlder that made him become the monster that he is now.

In a passion of being reborn, he killed everyone that got in his way, and that is when he took a step back from the world. He wanted to be alone, he wanted to beg for mercy and weep and watch the universe move on while he stood there, helpless and frozen and alone.  
“Mi amor, mi orgullo, mi hijo hermoso. El amor es la cura para todo." His mother used to whisper in his ear whenever he felt frightened and lonesome.

 

But really, what is love? What does it mean, how does it feel? These questions always buzzed in Raphael’s head, and no matter how hard he tried to shake them off, he couldn’t.  
He read every book present in Hotel Dumort’s library, every romance novel etched to his brain. He asked the wisest of the vampires, the eldest, about love. The sensations, the perceptions, the plain concept of love. He was met with many different answers that were however somewhat similar. After consistent quests at attempting to find it in himself to love, he failed. He failed, and failed, and he gave up. He couldn’t love, no matter how hard he tried. With time, the idea of it rendered him hopeless. He couldn’t care less anymore. Love wasn’t the cure for anything. Love is non-existent, a fake notion made for silly mundanes who couldn’t identify what their emotions were. He held on to that belief. Maybe he was just shattered, different than others. However, a newborn fledgling that recently showed up in the Hotel taught him otherwise. Apparently, he wasn’t this broken piece of glass waiting to be mend by a “special someone.” He was aromantic, and there were people just like him too. It ached him that there was barely any representation of his sexuality, but he still felt eternally grateful for this piece of knowledge that was kept hidden from him all these years. He felt like he owed Simon the world. He doesn’t need love to be someone worthy. He doesn’t need anyone to tell him how significant he is. He stopped pitying himself and managed to get back on his feet.  
“Mi madre, mi todo, el amor no es la cura.” Raphael smiled weakly, watching the sun set with an old photograph of his mother clutched tightly in his hand. 

“Pero, estoy curado”

During the process of recovering, the scar on his chest that resulted from the golden cross his mother gave him helped keeping him grounded, fixated. A scar that reminds him of his faith, of his mother whom he loved unconditionally. The thought of honoring his mother, his religion, and himself, drove him to do dozens of choices that lead him to where he is right now.

He is the omnipotent leader of the New York clan; the toughest vampire the world has ever seen.

Raphael Santiago saved himself. It wasn’t love that made him want to live and be again, it was his strength and faith in his own capabilities and willpower.

It was himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mi amor, mi orgullo, mi hijo hermoso. El amor es la cura para todo: My love , my pride, my beautiful son . Love is the cure for everything  
> Mi madre, mi todo, el amor no es la cura: My mother, my all, love is not the cure  
> Pero, estoy curado: But I am cured
> 
> (if any of these sentences were phrased incorrectly, please point them out! i can barely speak spanish and i always make mistakes as i go on.)

**Author's Note:**

> Mi amor, mi orgullo, mi hijo hermoso. El amor es la cura para todo: My love , my pride, my beautiful son . Love is the cure for everything  
> Mi madre, mi todo, el amor no es la cura.:My mother, my all, love is not the cure .  
> Pero, estoy curado: But, I am cured
> 
> ((i can barely speak spanish. if i phrased any of these sentences incorrectly, please feel free to point the errors out!))


End file.
